The Writing Prompt Boot Camp

Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 427

For today’s prompt, write a valentine poem. Because, well, look at the date. If you don’t have flowers, a card, chocolates, don’t fret: Write a valentine poem. If you don’t have a valentine, write a poem to the person (even if imaginary) that you wish was your valentine. If you’re too cool for school and valentines, then write a poem about that.

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Here’s my attempt at a Valentine Poem:

In the end, what can I say
that would surprise you
or take your breath away?

What could I possibly do
to make you love me more?
Because it really is true

you’re the only one I adore
and you own every song
that sings of mi amore.

To you, my heart belongs
every night and every day
for you can do no wrong.

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Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and author of Solving the World’s Problems (Press 53). He is married to the poet Tammy Foster Brewer, who has literally saved his life twice and in every other way has breathed life into him more than he could ever adequately express.

They were young.
Correction: She was young,
he was her senior by eight years.
But amid the fears and trepidation,
she found her station by his side.

His pride was showing
and she was knowing he loved her.
They dated and waited and “hated”
the nay Sayers who indeed said “nay”.
Yet, they remain together ‘til this day.

But early on, they did struggle.
And holidays and celebrations
were feted with a kiss and embrace
and a promise of better things
when things got better.

The first Valentine’s Day
he put pen to page and this sage
with his wonderful words
wrote her a “card”. It wasn’t that hard.
He rendered a heart to start,

and within its borders, this hoarder
of secret poetic ponderings
had her wondering where this beauty
resided. For he had hidden it deeply,
keeping his embarrassment in check.

But what the heck, he folded the paper,
his caper awaiting completion.
His fear of exposing his heart
even to one so true, would have you think
he was unsure of his words and of her.

But, he watched as she read the verse,
and counted the steams that flowed
down her cheeks to collect on her chin.
That’s how it would begin.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and cried.

As much as he had tried to deny his muse,
She was at last glad he would choose
to reeal his heart. That’s where is would start.
The following year he erred greatly,
for things had gotten better lately.

For Valentine’s Day he bought her a card.
It wasn’t that hard to plunk down money
all for his Honey’s pleasure; a treasure she’d love.
She didn’t. It upset her; he had let her down.
He could tell by her frown he had mistaken.

It had taken a turn and he would yearn
to know the reason she thought he had committed treason.
His hand-made card was rather crude and plain,
it had ink stains and smudges that he fudged
to try to fix. But as it was, it endeared him to her.

There was more heart and soul in its simplicity,
it brought electricity to her being, and seeing
the perfectly embossed placard that was
the hallmark of all such things, did not
bring her joy. Her boy made a promise.

For their lifetime, he would draw and rhyme
in his one-of-a-kind way. And I still do to this day.
Every Valentine, Anniversary, Mother’s Day
and Birthday, (even an occasional Earth Day card)
came in my hand from my heart. That’s where it would start.

Did I forget to say
I love you?
Freesia.
Did you know
you’re my wish come true?
Heather.
Did I tell you
how thankful I am for you?
Hydrangeas.
Did you know
how strong I know you are?
Gladiolus.
Do you want
to restart fresh, with me?
Daffodils.
Do you believe I’ll feel the same
for the rest of my life?
Red and white chrysanthemums.
You waited for me
for ten years before I said yes.
Aster.
Have I forgotten
to put you first?
Anemone.
But I remember you now,
your unfailing love.
Statice.
And I wrap them
all together with
Forget-me-not.

they’d hoped their cat might be both of their valentines
they’d hoped that he might see the me they’d hoped to be
and when their po-em ran to hardly any lines
they gave the cat his due one clue they’d see it through
and valentined his nine lives into ninetynines

In the still of the night
you light my fire. You,
lady in red, are the wind
beneath my wings. If I died
in your arms tonight, remember,
all you need is love. When
a man loves a woman as I love
you, wild horses could not drag
them apart. You are the sunshine
of my life. I am so lucky
that you belong to me.

Song Titles Used:

In The Still Of The Night
Light My Fire
Lady In Red
Wind Beneath My Wings
I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight
All You Need Is Love
When A Man Loves A Woman
Wild Horses
Sunshine Of My Life
You Belong To Me

Hearts find a way of finding you
even if they’re cut from cardboard.
Corny as it sounds, I found the reason
for this seasoned gesture is timeless
and not meant for a less deserving guy.
But know this, this thought has brought me much joy
(the boy who meant not toy with your affections)
So if this heart finds a way of finding you,
know it’s true and thoughts of you still linger.
If it could put my finger on it, my tactile meander
would deeply delve, and all for the girl in 312.

If I could paint a masterpiece,
you’d be in it,
and all of our dogs and cats, too,
and it would be a perfect day,
with green grass, bright flowers,
a sky of blue.
If I could paint the perfect picture,
there’d be no frustrations,
no conflict, certainly no pain,
no fast leap to being old folks,
no, we’d be fresh and young again..
Can you imagine a day so perfect?
I can, reflecting on the day
that you were sent my way.
I can imagine that day so perfect
with the peace of the mythic dove.
It’s easy for me, you know, since
I am always with the one I love.
Can you imagine a day so perfect,
a valentine in every way,
where all we need is each other.
Today is such a day.

This Valentine morning, fields
lie lush with green-heart miner’s lettuce.
In the pasture, seven wild turkeys –
three hens on the sidelines, observing
four toms a-bloom
with fanned-out tails a splendor
of amber-bronze glinting early sun.
It must be the day of choosing.
There aren’t enough ladies
to go around. Each tom’s puffed up
to the max, jutting beard,
snood engorged.
I ask the hindmost lady,
who will be her Valentine?
Only a turkey hen knows the worth
of each feather-tailed bouquet.

I pull on my valentine socks
The gray striped ones with
Shiny hearts all over them
I made you a pop-up card
That says ‘I *heart* you
You bought me six chocolate roses
And a chai latte
No lavish dinner
No giant heart shaped box
No wine and candle light
No serenade
We know that love is in
The small things
Looks exchanged
The gentle touch of a hand
An old song remembered
The everyday gestures
That we do not take for
Granted

I don’t need words to know you love me,
but sometimes it would be nice to hear,
to infuse my heart with girlish glee.
I don’t need words to know you love me.
No need for gushing, it could just be
one simple sentence: “I love you dear.”
I don’t need words to know you love me,
but sometimes it would be nice to hear.

Through minutes, days, and months, through storm and sun,
a love affair’s a melding of relations,
a compact overcoming one and one
through minutes, days, and months, through storm and sun;
from year to year unfolding, once begun:
a relation built on fond associations.
Through minutes, days, and months, through storm and sun,
a love affair’s a melding of relations.